


Bitter Competition

by Cosmic_Iguana



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed: Valhalla - Fandom
Genre: Arguing, Basim getting angry, Bonding, Early days in Norway, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, These two are competitive, Trust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, for now..., some sad backstory on Hytham's part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Iguana/pseuds/Cosmic_Iguana
Summary: It becomes clear in his first days in the strange lands of Norway that him and the Wolf-Kissed have gotten off on the wrong foot, able to get under each other's skin far more easily than he had anticipated. Hytham's ire comes to a boiling point when Eivor recieves the hidden blade, and their bitter rivalry continues to burn bright throughout....
Relationships: Eivor & Hytham (Assassin's Creed), Eivor/Hytham (Assassin's Creed), Hytham/Eivor, Hytham/Eivor (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 80





	1. It is not about worth

**Author's Note:**

> When I tell you this took...a while. Not that I've been working on this 24/7 but I have been agonising over this.
> 
> The premise for this comes from the little nods in the beginning of the game that Hytham and Eivor were not on friendly terms, and I wanted to expand upon that by delivering some character interactions as well as coming up with a backstory for Hytham (since Ubisoft has left this handsome man shrouded in mystery)
> 
> There's a lot of Basim involvement, but that's hardly a bad thing :) and I am aiming to write some more right up until they arrive in England so I would absolutely love it if you kept your eye out for that. Thank you so much for clicking and it would mean the world if you left a comment and Kudos as they inspire me to keep writing! Thank you again! xxx

Hytham’s breath catches in his throat when Basim and Sigurd share a knowing look. With Sigurd then pulling out a small, golden hidden blade; which was enriched with intricate carvings and embellishments. Far more masterly crafted than anything Hytham could ever hope to own. And his blood turns to ice when he faces Eivor. Fists ball and knuckles burn white as her eyes light up, gleaming over the gift. 

Whatever words are exchanged between the siblings is dissolved in the hot fire burning in his head.

She holds it with keen interest, eyeing the delicate details etched into the blade. Hytham’s feet get ahead of him, his body willing itself into confrontation or maybe even to take the blade away from her, until Basim’s hand flies to his stomach. And all he can do is look pleadingly at his mentor. Waiting for some kind of explanation, some kind of hint that this was a joke that hadn’t landed yet.

Yet, Basim seems pleased with Eivor’s reaction. Smiling happily as she nods enthusiastically.

“A thing of beauty,” She breathes in awe. Then her beaming smile is ruined when his and her eyes meet. And her lips quirk into an offended grimace. “Though it seems Hytham is not amused.  _ Am I not worthy of this gift?” _

At first, his ears burn at her challenge. She knew how to sweep confidence from a man with one, cold look, he’ll give her that. But he’ll make no secret of it. This was completely inappropriate; for an outsider to be gifted the hidden blade...it made his stomach twist just from her holding it. 

And of course she’d make this all about worthiness. As if that was what doctrined everyday life. 

She didn’t understand, and how could she? She was wielding an item central to their way of life with little to no knowledge of its importance. This was exactly why his blood boiled from this gift. It was like giving a child a dagger to contend with.

Already the two of them had gotten off to a rocky start, but he did not feel civil enough on the topic to back down from her obvious attempt at riling him up. If she wanted to know his feelings, then he would freely lay it into her. The confidence she swept up is quickly regained as he takes a deep, furious breath.

“It is not about worth, Eivor. It is about devotion to our creed. And...and training!-”

“ _ Hytham!  _ Please…” Basim interjects, giving him a meaningful look.

He could go on, a list of reasonings for why this was wrong spill into his head. But he bites his tongue out of respect for his mentor. Feeling overly outnumbered between his and Eivor’s burning gazes. However, his opinions are spear-heading like a flaming arrowhead, and it nips him when Eivor then has the gall to attach the hidden blade to her wrist; attuning the leather straps accordingly as she twists it so it rests on her overarm. Laid bare like an eye-sore for everyone.

_ She was doing this on purpose. _

“Mentor I must protest! This is deeply unorthodox! The hidden blade is a sacred tool-”

“Hytham, do not make a fetish out of cold metal,” Basim speaks mildly, smiling assuredly. “What matters is the mind of the one who wields it,”

There is a spark of wisdom in his words. Yet Hytham is still at a loss for what on earth inspired Basim to think Eivor possessed such a mind. This was hardly the first time Basim had strayed from the doctrines and traditions of the Hidden Ones, and usually his errant ways were progressive and freeing. But other times, they were blatantly _ offensive.  _ He could feel the disapproval from his brothers and sisters back in Constantinople crawl along his spine like spiders. Begging him to talk some sense into his mentor.

None could debate Basim as a talented, valuable and wise asset to their order. Which was part of the reason why Hytham could excuse a few eccentricities in order to study under him. However,  _ Hytham valued their traditions, _ and his mentor was taking them and crumpling them into dust, discarding the ashes to the wind.

Eivor flick her wrist, the blade coming alive in a brilliant, metallic hiss.

_ “I like it,” _

“The blade should ride on the underside of your arm. To conceal it from plain sight,” Basim advises and flicks his own wrist to demonstrate.  _ Oh, so now he recites the traditions. _

Just when he thinks Eivor might heed his words, and begin trying to understand their ways. Her face twists into an aloof sneer. “I have no wish to hide this. And I’d rather avoid making the same mistake as you two,”

Hytham’s fingers twitch, though whether at the mention or just her sheer ignorance,  _ or both _ , he isn’t sure. Basim’s own eyes seem to dull somewhat as he glances at his fragmented hand. Sheathing the hidden blade slowly.  _ What were the chances his mentor was finally regretting this decision? _

She was so... _ dismissive.  _ So oblivious to the significance of this gift, no matter how ill-guided the act had been in the first place. She receives it like any other axe birthed from the fire of a blacksmith’s smelter. Clearly grateful, but naive to what this gift assured. The blade was so much more than a weapon...

The day he lost his ring finger is a day he remembers well; the pain had been marred into his mind, providing the memory with crystal clear clarity. It involved fire and metal, blood and chants. He remembers how all his excitement shrivelled away as the ceremony began with forceful hands holding him down. Pinning his arm across the stone slab. He remembers how strong their grips were, digging bruises and nail-shaped cuts into his shoulders, neck and arm. Trapping him so that even if he wanted to no longer go through with it,  _ he couldn’t get away.  _

He remembers Basim’s eyes, utterly fixed, utterly unreadable as he prepared the dagger. They wandered to his face, looking for a shred of regret. Yet, Hytham had waited his whole life up until that point for this. _ Afraid? _ Yes, that was an affable word to describe what he was feeling. But he nodded reassuringly at his soon to be mentor. He wanted this.

And through the fear, he persisted. He persisted as Basim brought the dagger down and beridded him of the unnecessary flesh. He persisted in trying to be as quiet as possible as they brought the hot tongs to his wound, cauterizing the stump.

And he persisted as his brothers erupted in cheers as the hidden blade slipped through the fresh, bloody gap for the first time.

Through his sacrifice he was inducted into something greater than himself, greater than the people around him, greater than the ones who would come after him. He became part of an idea, something intangible that would outlive him for centuries to come. There was no higher honour than that…and Eivor couldn’t begin to comprehend such an honour less it smacked her in the face. 

What he did was no mistake. Hytham was beyond irritated she would reduce his sacrifice to that.

“This is no mistake!” He snaps at her, once again his feet carrying him hurriedly ahead towards her. “It is a sacrifice to prove our devotion to-”

“A good start, Eivor. But you will need to learn how to use it effectively,” Again, Basim is quicker than him, anticipating his movements by standing in front him. Blocking his path to Eivor as he regards the woman warmly. “Perhaps we should retire to the courtyard,”

Suddenly, Basim faces him. Eyes gleaming with another one of his sparkling ideas making Hytham’s heart drop. He comes to hold him firmly by the shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before looking back to the viking woman. “Hytham can demonstrate it’s use to you,”

_ “Mentor?” _ He says through gritted teeth.

“You said it yourself no? It is all about devotion and training? Allow Eivor to prove her devotion to its proper use. Train her to wield it yourself, my student. If it’s meaning is so important to you,” 

A grumble teters from his lips, as does one slip from Eivor, cringing at the thought of having to learn anything from him. He indicates with a glowering look that he too takes no joy in this.

Nonetheless, the four of them leave the warmth of the longhouse. Bracing themselves against the shuddering winds of Norway as they move diligently through the snow. Sifting through the thick, blanket of white towards a small courtyard just down the hill.

Eivor makes conversation with Sigurd and Basim, intentionally leaving him to fester in silence no doubt. Avoiding anymore engagements with him than she could stomach, which suited him just fine. He couldn’t hear her over the bristling wind anyway, which marvelled him as to how Basim was able to understand a word.

The cold did not suit him at all. And the sooner he got this over and done with, the sooner he could slip back beside a welcome fire. Better yet, the sooner he killed Kjotve the sooner they could return home...or perhaps not Constantinople, but any other country that was less cold.

There were a series of dummies scattered throughout the square. To the side stood a decrepit, skeletal fragment of architecture towering over them. Already Hytham’s eyes scour the brickwork, mentally analysing and picking out finger nooks and ledges where he could steady his feet. Musing over the dummies and figuring out how their positions could be exploited -  _ balancing on the fence would allow greater intensity of a strike against the first, the second is facing away, a quick but deliberate prick at the neck would sort it out, I could then directly haul myself over the shoulder of the third, pulling it against my weight and into the floor, the fourth was situated on the ledge, easy to tear down…- _

“Hytham, we are waiting on you,” Basim pulls him from his thoughts, looking at him expectantly.

Eivor kicks a bunch of snow haphazardly. “I do not see the need. It is a blade like any other, I can easily fathom its use,” She huffs at the apparent inconvenience he was causing her.

He stares daggers at her, a sharp response hangs off the tip of his tongue ready to cut and snap at her ignorance, but he’d rather just prove her wrong through actions. It would be like pulling blood from a stone any other way. 

“You would do well to pay attention, Eivor,” Is all he says, not giving her enough time to respond as he bows - flashing a cocky smile followed by a wink - before lunging into a sprint. He vaults over the fence graciously, pace still going strong as he surges against the first dummy. 

Eivor’s mind stutters and reels as Hytham seemingly moves like water, spinning and coiling around the dummy as he pins it to the ground. He doesn’t stop there, next in a blink of an eye, the man is lunging himself at the second dummy, then the third, his hidden blade zipping and snapping in different directions so quick she can’t even see it. Hytham scrambles up the tower. Moving like an insect; scurrying up towards a ledge with quick precision as if his hands and feet were sticking to the brick. 

Hytham tears one of the two dummies from the ledge with ferocious intensity. It lands with a dull thud against the snow, and Eivor is too distracted by how quickly he cleans the courtyard to notice he stands at the very top of the tower. Her throat dries as she has to stop herself from shouting out as he falls.

He is nothing but a blur of white, black and red. Descending like a ball of light. The tail end of his robes fluttering like a bird’s feathers as he comes crashing down onto the fifth. His wrist sinking into the makeshift neck of the filled sack. 

She is relieved these were merely dummies. For the scene he paints with his wrist blade is bloody and gruesome.

“Seems he is eager to impress,” Basim points out, his tone carrying a suggestive undertone that Eivor deliberately ignores. The younger man had made his feelings on her quite clear, it was anything but fondness.

Yet, she finds herself caught between impressed and annoyed. What she wanted to be was detached from the spectacle. But she couldn’t deny she was shocked at how...quick and precise Hytham was. He seemed so stern, so pent up and rigid. Such a feat seemed out of the realm of possibility for him. And yet, she wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him, or at least, not anymore than she already was. 

At the same time, the last thing she wanted was to feel amazed. And she didn’t want to give that up to Hytham. Making him think he won.

Eivor’s eyes drag over Hytham’s form as the man makes his return. Eyeing his torso, arms and thighs. Discerning what part of him allowed such vigor. Whatever it was, his robes hid his form well. For she never would have derived someone so apparently thin could do that.

As Hytham comes back, he does his best to force himself to breathe slowly and steadily. Hiding the fact that his lungs were currently gasping for air. Last thing he needed was to keel over right then and there and ruin the look of surprise on Eivor’s face, which she wasn’t hiding well. He grins from ear to ear, hands on his hips as he joins Basim’s side.

“Although a…. _ dramatic embellishment _ . Those are the most common forms of utilising the hidden blade in combat and during stealth. As you can see, the blade is a deadly accessory against most adversaries,” Basim construes.

Hytham speaks slowly, masking his heavy breathing. “Indeed. The hidden blade has been a tool used by our brotherhood for centuries. It is not a tool to be used lightly, so do not despair if you cannot accomplish what I have. It takes training and time to master it,”

His glibness is not lost on her. In fact, he seems to have ignited something inside of Eivor. As though he has poured a stack of kindling onto a calm fire only for it to spiral into a roaring, burning monster.

She laughs, but it is not kind laughter.

“So, you want me to copy that? Where is this challenge you promised me?!” She throws her arms up emphatically.

Best case scenario, she could tear the dummy from the ledge after wiping the floor with the three others blocking her path. Yet to jump from a tower of that height? Her heart was beginning to frantically beat at the thought. She could break her leg, she could slip and her body could scrape against the tower as he fell. Yet, even with those pestering thoughts, the most humiliating thing that came to mind would be Hytham’s reaction if that did happen.

“Oh? You truly think you can do all of that? Without proper training and wearing the blade the wrong way round?” He chides, looking at her amused.

If she did manage it though, if she did descend with near enough the same grace as he had. She could wipe that dumb smirk off his face. It was well worth the risk.

“You underestimate me clearly then, Hytham. If it takes _ time _ and  _ dedication _ to do that little jig, then I shall have no problem replicating it,”

He scoffs. “By all means, Eivor. If you truly think you can…” He motions with his hands towards the courtyard, encouraging her. 

Eivor wastes no more time in kicking her feet into a sprint. She heads for the first dummy like Hytham, but instead of swirling around it like he had, she flicks her wrist, the hidden blade glinting in the moonlight as it is driven hard into the neck. 

To the shock of everyone, Eivor then rips the same dummy from it’s stick, throwing it with all her might at the second. It crumbles against the velocity and she mentally uses it as a distraction, allowing her to gust through the snow and immediately come up behind the third. Though it was anything but sneaky, then again that was the least of her intentions. She senses the weakness in the side of the back, and soon her blade is one with the fabric, tearing it completely open. Leaving the sack to flow like a flag in the wind.

Eivor does not copy Hytham to the exact detail, but she uses the hidden blade in her own way, adding her own charm to the dance. She is slower than him, but makes up for it in might and power in ways he couldn’t. She races to the tower, inserting her fingers into the cracks of the brick and pulling herself up by the strength of her shoulders. There were not enough buildings in the surrounding area of their settlement to allow much practise in climbing stonework, but her home had a plethora of mountains. One she had been scaling all her life.

Once at the top, she uses her hand to pull the target from the ledge. Quickly getting it out of the way until she finally stands at the edge of the tower.

Her breath hitches.

“Perhaps you should not have started with an air assassination, Hytham,” Sigurd says, obviously miffed. He braces himself, as if preparing to run out under Eivor and catch her if need be.

Hytham notices, and his chest begins to tighten. “Eivor! Do not push yourself!” Last thing he wanted was her getting seriously hurt just to spite him. As much as he resented her, he didn’t want her winding up injured. “Get down if you do not think you can do it!”

However, Eivor mistakes his tone for mocking. She growls like a wolf and then without thinking about it too much, she leaps from the edge. Aiming her body towards the fifth dummy as she comes crashing down, raising her wrist just right and….

It’s a hard landing, and it knocks the wind out of her. But the dummy breaks her fall. Her wrist cries out in pain, but the blade is secured into the sack, spilling shards of fabric out like guts. And when she opens her eyes, she sees the others staring in both shock and in delight.

Hytham’s jaw is slacked, then as it were a last minute attempt to retain some composure, he closes it. Gritting his teeth and diverting his eyes elsewhere, as if he wasn’t affected by the whole scene.

It’s croaky, but a roar of laughter erupts from Eivor….


	2. An unexpected visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super long but I am very happy with how it turned out, this chapter by far was focused on more than any other. Furthermore, the chapters in this fic are not in chronological order, I know. But I like to fill in the blanks and gradually show their conflicting relationship inbetween how they begin to grow fond of one another.
> 
> Once again Kudos and comments would be appreciated! xxx

“Your impatience and impulsivity have robbed you of a normal, healthy life,” Basim says to Hytham. 

The grogginess fermenting in Hytham’s mind grows heavier with each round Basim takes in pacing about Eivor’s hut. Seeing him go  _ back and forth, back and forth  _ made his own lungs want to give out. Sweeping the breath out of him like a hit to the chest.  _ A feeling he had become well acquainted with by this point.  _

The elder Hidden One - who seemed more tired than usual - pinned his arms behind his back as if to restrain himself from wrestling Hytham out of the bed. And each step that smacked the floorboards only seemed to grow quicker as Basim came up with new reasons as to why Hytham’s actions had been so foolish,  _ so unbecoming of him.  _

Hytham stares at his hands as Basim continues his interminable lecture; the fresh cuts and bruises etched deep into his skin was what kept him rooted in reality. If he could, he would simply fall into slumber. Sleep away all the pain that dogged every inch of his body. Even just sitting upright in this bed was tasking enough for him. Old sores crept up on him, roaring in discomfort. But he wished no further disrespect upon his mentor. The man remained level-headed and poised, yet it became apparent that one wrong move on his end would ensure a hard tumble from the bed as he got dragged by his earlobe.

Hytham tears into a scab with his thumb. Of course, Basim wouldn’t be like this if he had just talked to him about what was troubling him, if he hadn't gone behind his back and tried to kill Kjotve himself.  _ Emphasis on ‘tried’. _ But how could he? His mentor was so set in his ways there was little room for a discussion.

So  _ long _ within these four walls. Even time escaped him. He slipped in and out of the waking world with no regard for the passage of time. The only constant thing was the pain. Leaving him to wonder how long Basim had remained at his side; did those dark crescents persisting under his eyelids speak of late nights ensuring Hytham’s breathing didn’t come to a sudden stop? He had this nagging feeling of guilt over it. Believing Basim could be spending his time more productively, yet he was stuck with his...useless apprentice.

Upon his silence, Basim stops and gives Hytham a sharp once over. Dark eyes growing impossibly darker. A shadow casting over them like eclipses in a night sky.  _ “Did you hear me?” _

Hytham panics. Searching Basim’s face for an inkling of what was said but finds only stoicism. He swallows, nodding. “I did, mentor,”

“Do you now? Do you understand the meaning of my words? Of what they convey for your future? What they convey for you  _ now?” _ He asks again, tone _ so _ severe it could cut steel. “Do you understand what you have brought upon yourself?”

Basim never lost his nerve. Even now, when fury hangs in the air like a coming storm, Basim retains complete and utter composure. Like a blade struck into the earth amidst battering winds. _ It almost scares him, it was very unnatural and Hytham knows he would prefer outright shouting and raving. _

His brown eyes reflect a burning fire. Ready to spit and crack and grow amongst the pyre that is Hytham’s failures. Yet Basim’s face remains firm, relaxed. It is only through his speech that he permits himself a vice to lose a little control in. To utter words that dig and furrow into the corners of Hytham’s mind. Producing a gnawing, little rat that eats away at him. There is also that air of finality that comes after every sentence. Making any and every excuse Hytham could come up with feel thin and brittle. Like Basim’s jabs were more than mere insults,  _ but plain fact. And how can one argue with facts? _

“I understand,”

“No, I do not think you  _ fully  _ comprehend. I think you are just spitting out pretty agreements to satisfy me,” Basim retorts. He never completely shouts. His voice raises against aggressive intonation, but he never yells. It’s like he’s incapable. It’s not what Hytham is used to honestly. Back home the mentors could be heard throughout the street.

Hytham sighs and shakes his head. “I will never heal. This...this painful tug in my chest,” He says a little louder than he wanted,  _ pleading understanding. _ He raises his hands and presses his fingers over his heart. Prodding himself out of hatred. “This soreness that _ dogs me, _ it will persist well into my life.  _ I am aware, _ Mentor,”

Basim waits for more and Hytham grits his teeth. “I failed you, I failed the Hidden Ones,”

“The consequence of going against our word -  _ and behind my back _ \- is harsh, Hytham. Too harsh I believe. Yet, that is not the answer I was hoping for,” Basim finally comes over and motions Hytham to scooch over on the bed. Hytham complies, tenses when Basim reaches over and grips him on the shoulder. “What of Eivor? Do you not see how this may be punishment for you acting so hastily? For you to go against our word and deceive her? What were you thinking striking against Kjotve!? It was not your life to take!” 

Compelled by what felt like Basim’s inane demanding, Hytham feels a sudden bout of irritation, as if Basim was choosing to not understand simply out of spite. __

_ It was not as if had assaulted Kjotve mindlessly!  _ After all, he had spent weeks planning Kjotve’s assassination. The months sussing every possible weakness, obsessing over every minute detail, picking Sigurd’s brain and even Eivor’s when she was in the mood to talk was not the work of a man who acted without thought!

The  _ Oath-breaker  _ was the key to proving that Basim’s lessons hadn’t fallen upon deaf ears. It was the opportunity he craved for to personally deliver a victory for the Hidden Ones. So, when he was told by Basim that some random woman would be the only one allowed to take his life. That all his scheming had been for nought.  _ And that he had to be okay with it?  _ To say that he was bitter was an understatement. 

How could he be expected to be okay with it? Basim of all people knew how important this opportunity was, yet he cast the responsibility onto Eivor, a woman who had done nothing but disregard and belittle their order’s ways since they arrived in Norway. She looked at them with a shadow of suspicion, waiting for them to give her cause to lash out. That kind of unwillingness to understand and trust was hard to cull. So, he didn’t bother. That’s why he struck Kjotve, that’s why he went behind their backs.

_ The Vikings were unnaturally obsessed with death. Romanticising the spillage of blood like it was a cause for celebration, seeking glory like addicts and the battlefield was their tincture...  _

Hytham could not fathom the love these men and women had for the afterlife. And no warrior here personified this intense lust for the beyond better than Eivor. She was strong and good-hearted - none could deny that - but it was the promise of a good death that motivated her to get up every morning. Not the desire to live in the present, but to keep going till death claimed her. She didn’t just readily accept her demise...she welcomed it. To Hytham  _ she was a dead woman walking.  _

Why did it matter if he killed Kjotve instead of her? Revenge seethed in her mind but revenge was never worth it.  _ Had he been successful, he would have done her a favour.  _ Forced her to let go of her pain and her hate…maybe then she would appreciate the present more.

Better a life be taken in the name of good, than in the name of revenge.

No, this injury was simply a consequence for not anticipating Kjotve’s reflexes. For slipping up and not evading the cruel man’s claw. Next time he would be quicker, focused.  _ He would do better, be better.  _

Then, Hytham’s heart turns cold.  _ But would there even be a next time? _

“I am sorry, Basim. But Kjotve’s life was the brotherhood’s to claim. Not Eivors. Or...at least that is how I see it,”

For the first time this evening. There is a hint of a smile working its way on Basim’s mouth. “The brotherhood’s,  _ or yours?” _

Hytham is at first confused. Basim gives him this look as if he’s just given him one the many mental puzzles he likes to dish out. And treating it like one, Hytham is silent as he contemplates. He was but a vessel for the brotherhood, this head always known. A tool to be utilised to uphold the tenets and to safeguard the Hidden One’s goals. Goals he truly believed in. Killing Kjotve was in their best interests and so it made sense for a Hidden One to deliver that kill.

“They are one in the same,” He responds confidently.

Basim shakes his head. Waiting for Hytham to guess again. Silence.

“No, Hytham. The brotherhood saw Kjotve’s death as a necessary evil in order to safeguard the freedom of others,”

“Which is exactly what I intended-”

_ “It was not what you intended. _ Because if it were, then the means by which Kjotve left this world would not have troubled you,” Basim interjects sharply. Raising a finger which makes Hytham feel irritably childish. “It was important that your blade tasted Kjotve’s flesh  _ hmm?  _ It  _ had to be _ Kjotve, it  _ had to be _ then, and it _ had to be _ at the cost of Eivor’s trust,”

Hytham opens his mouth to argue, but the words die in his throat.

“You were impatient, it had nothing to do with the Hidden One’s goals. Your motivations were your own, Hytham. You wanted to prove something to yourself; that you are strong, that you are ready, that you are _ not _ your parent's son _.  _ Yet all you proved was that your impatience overshadows your logic...and it nearly cost you your life,”

Basim then stands abruptly, and the space he leaves feels colder. 

Just before he vanishes. Basim catches the doorway. Looking back with an unreadable expression.

“You did not fail the Hidden Ones,  _ you did not fail me _ . You failed yourself,”

With that, Basim takes his leave. 

He was restless that night. Stalked by blurry faces and familiar voices arising in the dozens as an orchestra. Shouting his name like a curse. He writhes under sweat-licked covers, finding himself on the edge of one of the four towers of the Hagia Sophia. The world is dark beyond the ledge, Constantinople suffocated by a looming blackness. 

Then, he feels a hand, then another - smaller than the previous - descend on either of his shoulders. 

He glances left and sees a tall man with a burly beard, his pointed hood like that of a bird’s beak covering most of his face. But Hytham knows who it is. Those same lips that have snarled at him to get up in the morning, praised him for his right hooks and strong grabs. The same nose he possesses.

To his right is a woman; draped in similar garbs with the same, white, pointed hood covering most of her features. Save for a golden ring sewn into her nose. Hytham is greeted with an image of a babe’s hands reaching tentatively for the glittering, glinting jewel of his mother’s nose ring.

Just as the corners of his mouth tug upwards at the fond memory. Both hands dig their fingers harder into his shoulder. And suddenly the feeling of comfort falls into the abyss with him.

What he sees next is harrowing. There’s snow all around him, an ice-ridged cliff that he’s racing towards without a single coherent thought. Like his mind has been numbed by fog. He’s suddenly midair, having jumped from the edge without thinking. Descending quickly towards a large, hulking form.

But he’s caught in its hand. Fingers coiling around his throat.. **_.he can’t breathe...he can’t breathe...he can’t-_ **

_ “Hytham!”  _

He is yanked into reality by the sound of a voice that is corrosive to his ears.

He launches himself upright on reflex, shooting up like a cat thrown into an ice bath. His leather brace suddenly comes alive with the sound of steel unsheathing. Before he can get so much as a thought in, his armoured forearm has flung itself in the direction of the figure looming over him. Yet is thwarted by a strong arm grabbing him firmly. Curling his arm away from their head with immense strength pinning him in place by grabbing his upper arm. Shoving him aside.

Slowly, the candlelight seeps into his sight. Clarifying his surroundings the more he draws awake. 

His heart pounds in his chest, heaving from the fear of being attacked. A pair of blue eyes stare back at him in alarm and his body attempts to fight back. Years of honed fighting responses kicking in as if a bottle of adrenaline had been emptied into him. But when his visitor calls out his name again, softer this time, to enunciate that he wasn’t in any danger His muscles start to relax.

“I’d hate to be the lass who wakes up next to you in the morning,” Eivor throws his hand onto the bed, forcing a smile to match her lighthearted tease. 

He can tell by her quiet, yet frantic breathing that he’s given her quite the fright though.

Unable to process her words just yet, he flicks his wrist in a swift motion. The hidden blade returning to its rightful place where it couldn’t almost slit someone’s throat again. With his free hand he holds his nose, nails deliberately digging into the bridge so as to wake himself up more. 

For a moment, he swears he is still lost in the dreary fog of his past bad decisions. That this was an apparition of Eivor coming to claim vengeance, which he could hardly blame her for. But he rationalises that were that true, he would’ve woken up with an axe in his chest.

And the only pain he currently feels is his chest calling out to him with a terrible vengeance for having gotten up so quickly. 

“You should know better than to wake a man when he is sleeping,” He grumbles.

Eivor lets out a puff. “It’s only so you men are not seen with morning wood. Rarely do we expect a blade in the gullet,” 

After a moment, when Hytham finally removes his hand from his face and looks at her. He sees how obvious her height is. Even sitting down, Eivor looms over him all intimidatingly, yet her face is anything but that. She looks...concerned? Or was he mistaken? He had to be mistaken...

_ Why was she even here…? _

Eivor motions to his leather bound wrist. “You sleep with that on?”

Despite the question being asked from innocent curiosity, Hytham’s anger spikes. Her question drew it out of him severely.  _ “That is no concern of yours,”  _

He said it harsher than he intended. Sending a jolt like a slap across the cheek as his defences kicked in. However, the second that Eivor’s eyes flicker to the floor shamefully, he curses himself. God, he was such a mess...he needs to remind himself of who’s hut he currently licks his wounds in. 

_ He is better than this. _

“Bad habit,” He shrugs, attempting to reconcile by ensuring his tone is softer this time. “It was not personal, pay me no mind,”

The blonde woman before him nods, a little too quickly even. “We are creatures of bad habit, so my mother used to say,”

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman,”

“I suppose I had to get my wit from somewhere, aye,”

“Ah, wit. Is that what you call it?” He hums, tilting his head.

Eivor’s face lights up in amusement. “And what would you call it?”

He chuckles. “I do not think you will want to know my answer,”

“Beware, Hytham, for if you are not careful you might wake up with a different blade sticking out of your body this morning,”

He can’t help but laugh loudly at her this time; his chest cries out at him to stop, but he snickers anway. “Which would be more embarrassing, I wonder?”

“Which indeed,”

Her chuckles emanate - for a moment - it is as though they are friends enjoying a quiet moment away from the curves and twists that life brings. They laugh as if it was the easiest thing in the world, a stark contrast to their earlier engagements with each other. In fact, Hytham believes this very well could be the first civil conversation he has shared with the woman, and you wouldn’t know it looking at them now.

He wonders if he had not been too harsh on his earlier judgment. Perhaps Basim saw something in her that took him only till now to understand. 

Most people’s laughs are merely a noise, a rumbling that came from the mouth. But with Eivor, she laughed with her eyes.. _.how they shined. _ Laughed through the way her face changed from stoicism into unrestrained joy, like a pouch being unwound to pour glittering gold out. It was also the kind of laughter derived from somewhere deep within herself. As if she was showing some hidden part of her that only came to light through her laughter.  _ A true, raw, and authentic Eivor.  _

And it was contagious, so contagious. It made him want to laugh with her all night long…

To his surprise, Eivor then lands a gentle hand on his shoulder. The touch is loud and apparent, as if the sensation was a mild mixture of hot and cold. It was not a touch easily ignored. It was nothing like a pat on the back from a brother or sister; her touch is brave and bold, just like her.

“You know, Hytham? I think that if we got a few tankards in you when we first met, we might’ve got along,” She says warmly, a little surprised herself to have come to the conclusion. He too thinks she is probably right, and wonders what could have been. 

Eivor gives him a quick squeeze, lingering for a moment before letting go. It was an easy and relaxed gesture, but Hytham felt its departure all the same, like he had been snapped from a peaceful daydream.

“You must have been seasick, that would explain why you have been such a  _ meinfretr! Would explain a lot…” _

And just like that, the moment is over. 

“Excuse me?"

“Why? Have you failed to notice? Do not tell me you are always like that?”

“I am not always like anything!”

Eivor scrunches her nose as she senses the bubbling argument. The image he had just cultivated for her; not a barbaric viking, but a potential ally, is broken, shattered as she stands up. 

“I see…”

“Why are you even here?” he asks petulantly, wanting to get to the root of it. “Did you come to mock me?”

She looks on angrily. “I came to check on you,”

“We are not friends, Eivor,” 

“We could be...yet it seems we never shall so long as you cling to your pride and break your promises, as you have done,” She sneers and he thinks he’s sussed out her intentions. 

Then all of a sudden, she folds her arms and sighs. Her anger dying out like a blown out candle. “I came to see if you were alright you…I have no ulterior motive I assure you. It was...a nasty hit you took from Kjotve. There was doubt you would even pull through,” She casts an unreadable gaze over his form which makes him straighten his back.

“But I did,” He answers.

“You did. For which I am relieved,” She smiles. “As is your mentor, I suspect. He hasn’t left your side in the last few days and hasn’t slept for more,”

“Did he request that you check in on me?”

“No, he did not,”

Hytham is taken aback by the answer, and a pang of rippling, humiliating guilt hits him. “I see...”

“And I have sated my curiosity. Good night, Hytham. I hope to the gods your night is easier, you seemed to be having a bad dream when I first entered. Sleep well,” She nods, saying it all so matter of factly. Bidding him farewell before ducking out of the hut. Leaving the room colder than before. 

Hytham rubs his face; this was not like him, to be so intense and aggressive without proper cause. And what little cause he tried to convince he had was thwarted by Basim’s words snaking their way into his head….

He was going to have to apologise...somehow….

**_Earlier_ **

Night was drawing in as she made her way up the hill. 

Basim steps out from Eivor’s hut as she comes toward the stairs. The lines marring the older man’s face seem to dig in deeper than usual, his eyes hooded against exhaustion. Yet, when he sees her, he bows in greeting to which she mimics with a curt bow of her head. 

“I thank you once again for allowing Hytham to rest in your home. It will do him a world of good, even if he is undeserving of your generosity,” He says smoothly, flashing her an appreciative look.

Eivor nods, scanning her eyes over to the window of her home with a shrewd look. Seeing an unmoving form wrapped in the sheets of her bed. It unsettled her slightly, knowing the one who nearly robbed her of her honour was cosying up in the warmth of her home. Yet she could not bring herself to voice such displeasure in front of Basim, not when it meant so much to Sigurd that she allow Hytham to rest here. And Basim did not deserve her ire. No, that was all reserved for Hytham.

At first, she was adamant on letting the shadowy one recuperate with the rest of the men in the barracks; let their stink and loudness stay him from a smooth recovery. Make him feel every cracked bone and sore muscle. Yet Sigurd implored otherwise, stating it would help Hytham get back on his feet sooner.  _ As if she cared. _

Eivor knew that look from Sigurd however. The same look he bore when they were kids and he would drag her into all of his problems. She was bailing him from trouble back before she even had a proper head of hair; the one with the clenched jaw, visible cords in the neck and looking all wide-eyed like someone stepped on his foot.  _ He was asking, but she had no choice, less she wanted an earful about it later. _

No, perhaps through her anger she was embellishing points. _She did not hate Hytham,_ and truly, she did not wish his death. _He was simply irritating._ Able to get under her skin like no one had before. It was clear that he had... _hidden_ qualities only Sigurd could appreciate. And it was also clear the shadowy one was devoted, dedicated, and dutiful to whatever his mysterious order represented. 

Eivor was grown up enough to respect that, if not the means by which he achieved it. In his mind, he was doing the right thing. So convinced of the righteousness of his actions; he was willing to go as far as insubordination to achieve his goals.

And driving a deeper wedge between her and him than ever before.

“It is no trouble. How is he?” She asks, feigning politeness. 

As she would soon come to know well, nothing could easily escape Basim’s perceptiveness. The man chuckled heartily, giving her a dimpled grin as he wags his finger. 

“Come now, Eivor. We both know that unless I report that he is writhing in agony, and calling out for his mother, you couldn't care less,”

Eivor is bashful with his forwardness at first, but then comes to rather like it. Basim was straight, bold; obstinate in his ways and inflexible with his words. She could respect a man who avoided decorating words with meaningless vagueness.

“I am...angry, frustrated, to be sure,” She admits.

“Of course you are,  _ as am I,” _ Basim motions to the door, pinching his lips as he did so as if Hytham could see his objecting look through the wood.

After a moment of thoughtfulness, Basim nods at her. “Walk with me?” He bids her to follow, making his way down the snowy hill to the rest of the settlement. 

Eivor follows eagerly, always keen to trade words with this illusive man.

“Hytham struggled to remain passive in the face of such an adversary, _ this I knew...” _ Basim begins, then rubs his face tiredly. “Still, I did not anticipate he would resort to open defiance,”

“He said he understood it was my right, promised the glory of killing the Oath-breaker would be mine and mine alone,” She reminds him. 

“That he did. Make no mistake, he will learn the error of his ways. But you must understand his motivations…”

Eivor scoffs. “Motivations? I would think his motivations lie with what he thought was best for your shadowy brotherhood?”

“I am sure he convinced himself that his motivations were just that, yes. However, I have known Hytham for a long time, and I know better,”

“You think he had other motivations? What kind?”

“The kind that festers in the heart, rotting it from the inside out till he feels the need to carve out the cancer,” Basim seemed a little too ready to deliver that response, and looks on proudly when Eivor is caught off guard. “Hytham was told of the malice inflicted upon your family by Kjotve; you are not alone in quenching ambitions through his death however,”

“To what benefit is Hytham owed? I kill Kjotve, your shadowy group get their life and I take back my honour. Everyone is pleased, _ or they would have been _ had he not intercepted,” She argues, blood boiling the more she thought on the topic.

“He did not do it to spite you. I am aware the two of you are...slow to trust one another…”

“He’s being a child,” She huffs.

The two come across the entrance to the longhouse and step within, finding a vacant table and perching themselves opposingly. Eivor wastes no time in collecting left behind ale and hugging a plate of food to her chest. 

“Perhaps there is more to your words than you realise,” He responds mysteriously. “I will tell you this, and I will trust you will keep it to yourself,” He presses his fingers into the table before beginning his story. 

Eivor divides her attention between the piece of the bread and Basim. 

“Unlike me, Hytham was born into the Brotherhood; he was the only son of two very respected individuals...even I admired them,” He begins, and there is a flicker of sadness in his eyes that warns Eivor this story does not end well. “They were...harsh on him as a child, as most parents are when they expect great things from their children. And there were many expectations as you can imagine. His life had likely been decided long before his conceivement,”

“That would explain why he seems so averse to fun,” She chides.

“Hytham...he can be rigid, this I know. But it is not without cause, Eivor. When Hytham was still a young man, I was ordered to investigate a probable traitor in our midsts…”

Eivor stops chewing, giving Basim a somber look, bidding him to continue.

“At first, I thought we had been intercepted by a new recruit. Thus I stringed all of our new arrivals along for interrogation. I thought I had solved it, saved our bureaus. Except I had been looking in the wrong place. I...I am not sure when, but Hytham’s parents had been swayed by our enemies. They were colluding with a contact, giving them the whereabouts of bureaus, the location of our hideouts and the names of those in our order,” Basim wrings his wrists together, the memory seeming to have an effect on him. 

Eivor is compelled to reach for his shoulder, but stops herself. Feeling as though that would somehow be wrong.

Basim clears his throat after a moment. “I was forced to end their lives before they could endanger the brotherhood any further,”

Her eyes widened. “And...Hytham?”

“He knows what his mother and father did. Despite my efforts to keep things secret, others soon learned of the truth. Leaving Constantinople was...it was his idea,”

“They were worried he was in on the betrayal?”

“Some did, but no evidence suggested Hytham was ever aware. It seems they wanted to keep him out of it, for whatever reason,”

Eivor’s breath shudders. A wave of shame overcomes her as she imagines the pain of that revelation, yet she needn’t imagine the pain of having those around you shun you for actions that were not your own. 

Her father had died a coward’s death; her name derived from his thus was stained, corrupted...spoiled. Eivor Varinsdottir felt like an inflicted curse, blackening her soul. Yet it was not one Valka could cleanse her of. Which was why she preferred  _ Wolf-Kissed, _ a horrible reminder of that day, yet pushing her on to win back her honour.

“He’s always wanted to earn his place in the order. He knows no other life, no other purpose. He does not want to be his parents, he wants to be better,” Basim says.

Eivor closes her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. Wishing hard that her and Hytham had gotten the chance to befriend one another. This was a pain unique to her, and to learn that he had suffered similarly...it felt like an injustice that they had been so slow to trust one another.

“I...understand,”

“I thought you might,” 

“Basim...tell me, will he recover?” Her voice pulses against her worry. It shames her; to be so suddenly afraid, to  _ only now _ be invested in his welfare. Yet there had to be some way of setting things right...

“I...do not believe he will ever fully recover,” He answers honestly.

Her heart grows cold.

“But, I think he will live,”

Not the answer she had been hoping for, but it was at least a little comforting. “I should go to him. See if he is on the mend for myself,”

“Eat your dinner...or whoever’s it was. Allow him some time to himself for now. You can go and see him soon,” He casts a judgeful look to her plate, but shakes the thought away. “I feel inclined to remind you that I would appreciate this staying between us, Eivor. Less Hytham ever feels inclined to tell you this on his own one day. It was not my story to tell, but I wanted you to try and understand where he was coming from. It’s no excuse, but it provides insight,”

“It did, Basim. I thank you for telling me, you have dulled the fire in my blood somewhat,”

  
  



	3. For a sense of normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hytham is unable to come to terms with his condition at first, and Eivor grows concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters! I'm so sorry this took so long!! But I have been working on them! Chapter five is also in the works thank you all so much for the comments and kudos they're amazing and inspire me to keep writing! xxx

After days spent confined to Eivor’s hut, Hytham was relieved at being able to get back onto his feet and move around again. His health had returned - _albeit not as it once once -_ which meant he wasted no time getting back into training despite the potential risk he faced. He was confident after having convinced himself of a perfect philosophy surrounding his condition. Perhaps too confident.

He didn’t know how long he had kept this up. The afternoon was beginning to blend into a dull haze as he bided his time in the training yard. Despite his chest crying out for him to stop, Hytham persevered; taking the pain and pouring it into another hack and slice. Adamantly ignoring the strange glances he was receiving from the other Norse as he pushed his body to the limit. His airways were clogging and choking with every swing of his sword and yet he grew more and more stubborn.

Those airways - now bruised and beaten - were but an extension of himself. Something he truly believed could be trained like every other aspect of him that had been taught to move, act and live as a Hidden One.

He imagined his lungs like an untrained dog. A thing that needed a stern hand; a dedicated enough owner to see the flaws and correct them. After all his years dedicated to his Creed, he would not allow this debilitation to hinder his ambitions to further their cause. He struck the training dummy harder.

After days spent helpless and burdensome under the covers he was vying for a sense of normalcy. Something that could make him feel like he had gone back in time to the days before this anchorage in his chest. And just when he thought he was…

A heaviness bears down on his breathing to remind him of his own mortality. Weighing him down like a tidal wave waiting to pull him under. Hytham falls against the dummy, clinging to the make-shift arms made from sticks as exhaustion sweeps through him. His chest clenching and unclenching like a tightly wound fist as he tries to regain composure through his loss of breath

_He was so useless in this state..._

The odd glances grow in intensity, he can only hope no one calls and alerts Basim. His mentor had advised him to be careful and mindful about the state of his body. To treat it gently until the heaviness did not trap his breath to the point of near unconsciousness. But Hytham never liked sitting on his hands. And his earlier words had snaked and rooted themselves into his thoughts; _‘Robbed of a normal, healthy life’_ Scratched somewhere deep like the carving of initials into a tree. 

He pushes himself off the dummy. Raising himself back onto his own two feet. Extending his arm to deliver another, frantic blow. _If he could just..._

 _“Enough,”_ Comes a low voice so very suddenly close to his ear. 

Hytham’s strike is stopped by the strangulation of his wrist; tightly-wounded in the grip of Eivor who holds him in place just above his head. Her height - once again - glaringly obvious to him. As is her fury.

At that moment, Hytham thinks he would have preferred Basim. He shoots a glowering look; wondering why on earth she did that and gives her fingers a bitter once over. Trying to ignore the overbearing sense of an argument quite clearly tethering on the horizon as he waits for a justification.

“Eivor, this is no concern of yours,” He tries to pull his hand away but she hangs on tightly. Either his own physical weakness was at fault, or he had forgotten just how strong she was. 

“I am merely training, I am not bothering you,” He tries to force an essence of calm. Willing his debility to abate so he can mimic strength, like he had done that day when teaching her to use the hidden blade. It was the only thing she responded to. 

Only this time it quickly failed.

She scrunches her nose. “They are saying you have been at this for _six hours_ , without a break,” 

It wasn’t a question. Whoever _they_ were, Hytham can’t help but feel that there may be some truth to their words. His body certainly felt the passage of time; six long hours creating sores in every acre. But he didn’t care.

“What are you hoping to gain with his nonsense you fool?” She asks.

He finally rips his wrist away from her with great effort. “I have been bedridden for days. I simply needed to stretch my legs,” He says it like it is obvious, rolling his shoulders casually. “I do not like sitting idly,”

“A bit of idleness is a healthy thing after suffering an injury like yours. Stop this before you set back your recovery,”

“I am out of bed. I am recovered, I do not need you mothering me,” He shrugs dismissively, then readies himself to begin training again. He had wasted enough time conversing with her and he hoped she would get the hint. 

Patience wearing thin, he feels the flat of her palm push against his chest hard before he can deliver another blow. It sweeps his breath away and he stumbles backwards; a bristling fire embedded into his eyes at her audacity.

She stands in equal challenge. Making herself into an indomitable wall he can neither climb nor crawl under. Any attempts to side step her are futile.

Eivor gave him the same look - beneath the obvious irritation unsettling her features - that she had given him the other night. When he reads the runes in her sky-blue eyes they tell him this was coming from a place of concern as much as it was frustration. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve her concern, _in fact he felt undeserving of it._ The indecisive pit in his stomach couldn’t make out if friendship was at all possible between them but this? Blind concern? Neither of them had earned the right to go about worrying about the other...

It didn’t feel like she was doing this from a place of care. She was making his problems her own. A fact not lost on him. As if he was some random stranger on her travels who couldn’t get by without her aid.

It made her anything but a bad person. But he was not a poor fellow on the side of the road. He didn’t need nor want her help. This was not a problem she could fix and feel good about later. He wasn’t hers to manage and he wishes she would understand that.

 _She couldn’t understand._ “I fail to see why you should care what I do with my free time. I am not bothering you, are you not needed elsewhere on the settlement?”

Again, he tries to get past her but Eivor refuses to move and his blood boils at her insistence.

“By god you are a stubborn woman!”

“If you truly think you have recovered, then tackle me,” She hits her chest like a great drum. Daring him to strike her. “Let us fight!”

Staring slack-jawed in disbelief, he thinks this is some cultural joke that has surpassed him. “Fight you?” It leaves his mouth as a gasp; shocked by the escalation of this argument. She has to be joking or completely crazy. “Is this some game? I am in no mood for games, Eivor,”

“Neither am I,”

“What? No, I will not fight you. This is ridiculous!”

“You claim you have recovered. Prove it to me and I’ll leave you alone, otherwise go and sit down!”

He rolls his eyes. “I have nothing to prove to you,”

She doesn’t waver. Regarding him with a sharp expectancy only fueled by his reluctance. Like if he stands there for much longer she will tackle him instead, force him into action.

For a moment, he considers it. He actually considers it. He eyes a set of dulled weaponry, made for practising nudged against the fence and wonders if this was something they both needed. Even now, he could tell she was just as sick of him as he was of her, as he was with himself too. He didn’t want to be her problem, _he didn’t want to be a problem at all._ He was stronger than that and in that instance he wonders if she couldn’t be a catalyst to prove it. 

Maybe a beating would do them good. Either he’d win and get her off his back, or he’d lose...and have to come to terms with what that meant. No matter the outcome, they’d get to take their rivalry out on each other and declare a victor.

“You’d think that injury would _humble you_. You are still as arrogant as the day I met you,” Her words scrape against him like jagged ice. “I can see why Basim would consider me for your brotherhood instead,”

That got his attention. 

_No, it didn’t make sense._ They didn’t come here to recruit! They came here to end a life, enact the work of the brotherhood in distant lands. Perhaps even rebuild in them. Basim might’ve gifted her the blade but that was just an appeal to Sigurd. A gift to declare goodwill. Surely his mentor wasn’t stupid enough clever to not see she lacked the temperament required of a Hidden One... _She was too old to be trained anyway, her throwaway attitude would stain the traditions of the creed…_

And yet the seed of doubt was already planted. Eating away at his insecurities. Like a little rat gnawing away.

He scoffs. “You think he entertains your inane conversations because he wishes to recruit you? _How naive,”_

“You are impatient and irrational, arrogant and cocky. Your youth hinders you, whereas it _aids me,”_ She motions to herself like a spectacle to behold. _“_ Why would he not entertain the idea? Or are you just afraid he might be looking for a new apprentice?”

“He is not Eivor. And even if he was, _he would not be looking at you._ You possess none of the traits needed to be a Hidden One. Our deeds go unsung. They will not land you in Valhalla’s halls,”

She grinds her teeth, knowing the truth in his utterances. Next Eivor snatches a wooden sword and hurtles it at him. Then snatches a makeshift shield and axe for herself.

“I have no eagerness to join your cult. But if you insist on carrying yourself like this then I will have to beat some sense into you,”

“I am not yours to fix,” Hytham fumes.

“Then I will still beat you senseless anyway,” 

He thought the fight would begin with them circling one another. Prowling like animals, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Except Eivor defies his expectations, launching herself at him instead with such intensity he feels his stomach plummet.

Hytham is aware he will go down long before he can antagonise her first. He waits for Eivor to cross the threshold and endure a hard-hitting blow to turn it against her soon after. He needs to get a feel for her tactics and for the way she moves on the battlefield. Pick out openings and weaknesses, let his mind do most of the fighting for him. And the only way to do that was to suffer first

She lurches forward; the wooden axe coming into contact with his ribcage. Hytham hisses and launches his sword into her shoulder in retaliation only for it to be thwarted by her shield. _Right, that was going to have to go._

She throws herself at him again, trying to bash him with her shield in a way he’s sure she’s dreamed about a thousand times. But this time Hytham swings the sword and cripples her knees. She crumbles quickly and he hits the fat wooden slab out from her grip. Sending it across the yard. It takes it out of him, his energy, his breath, his trail of thought. He felt done in already. 

She lands a decisive blow right into his stomach, which Hytham barely pushes through. The overwhelming nausea unbalances him as she grapples to her feet. Hitting him across the face. 

He blocks her third attack - only just - punching her this time in the ribcage to propel her backwards.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” She snaps, throwing her arms up.

“Don’t let that tongue get ahead of you, Eivor!” He dismisses.

Their completely different experiences in fighting was obvious. Compiling into completely different fighting styles. 

He was used to remaining in the shadows, delivering his kills from dark corners and obscured shadows. Using the act of surprise to his advantage. But there was no such thing here. Thus, all he could manage was to be more on the defensive while she carried an onslaught. It required a great deal of strength for him to withstand her. But he persisted, desperate to prove his point, giving everything he had left. Each beating he took gave him some semblance of normalcy...but that hope was beginning to get beaten into the earth with each pummel she delivered.

Eivor threw all her emotions into her blows, using it as fuel like wood upon a pyre. She didn’t wait, didn’t waver. Her fighting was brutish and loud, _like herself._ He imagined that when she was on the battlefield, she made a point for everyone to see the spectacle she made of her opponents. Wanting them to see her triumph when on raids, and this was no different.

But brute force only went so far if you ignored key vulnerabilities.

She had bad knees. No one should have gone down that quickly, not with his current lack of strength. Perhaps she too did not come out unscathed on the attack on Kjotve’s fortress. Either way, when his sword and her axe lock in place; both of them staring angrily into each other’s eyes as they press against their weaponry...he waits for her to push herself just enough…

He kicks himself back, digging his heels into the dirt and when Eivor falls forward he prepares to kick under her feet…

He feels alleviated. Happy, that he had retained some semblance of skill, that his condition had not taken everything from him..

However, time seems to slow when Hytham sees the look of recognition register on her face. A flicker of realisation that comes just soon enough for her, yet too late for him. He had been too slow, too ahead of himself. Already his foot flies to her legs before he can stop himself, ready to sweep her off her feet and bear down on her with his sword. She could easily jump, could easily buckle her knees just enough and it would be like kicking a pillar. He would go down in an instance...and he hated how much she would enjoy that.

Strangely, Eivor doesn’t do a thing to stop him. Nothing whatsoever to defend herself against the attack she had obviously seen coming. It’s like she lets it happen. He throws her off balance completely and she comes crashing down on her back. Landing with a dull thud. He instinctively sits on top of her, preventing a retaliation that never comes. Bearing the edge of his sword to her neck.

They breathe and gasp together, his breathing coming down harder as he tries to find the words. The logic behind what had just happened. Eivor’s face is expressionless, devoid of anything that could hint to what she was thinking. And as the air grows still around them, laden in wonderment and curiosity...Hytham feels the specks of achievement brighten his heart.

Until they die away in the disc of her smile. She pats his thigh twice for him to get off of her. His mind is running with theories; the one thing he does understand however, is that she let him win. _But why?_

They stare at each other, completely different intentions behind their gazes which he desperately wants to decipher. There is a strange softening at her gaze that elicits more speculation from him; as if she were waiting for him to bask in his triumph. But this triumph was sour... _he didn’t really beat her._ She could’ve stopped him, she could have easily overpowered him right then and there...

All of a sudden, Eivor recoils as a wooden spoon suddenly comes out of nowhere. Smacking her in the cheek. 

Hytham looks in the direction it came from and sees Sigurd bounding down the hill from the Longhouse. Eyes transfixed on him.

 _“I have had it with you two!”_ Sigurd’s volume alerts the rest of the settlers, who converge to watch the altecation as he grabs Hytham by the collar. “First you argue, then you throw punches. You mock and chide and act like little children and now you try to kill each other?!

“We were training!” Hytham says quickly, pulling himself from Sigurd harshly. “No one was in any danger!”

“He is right, brother,” Eivor rubs her cheek. Reaching out to take hold of him. “We...settled our differences, _for now,”_

She gives him a pleading look, needing Hytham to agree before this gets out of hand. 

“Yes, she is right,”

“And is it? Settled?”

Hytham isn't sure how to answer that truthfully, but he nods to appease Eivor...

  
  
  
  
  



	4. A Random Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being invited out to hunt, Hytham and Eivor are able to get away from the bustle of Forburg. Being suddenly alone together proves strange, yet allows a chance for a shift in their relationship. And when danger comes hurtling towards them, a sudden sense of trust is formed...

As they rode into the thick of the woods together, the trees began to grow more and more dense. Converging to form a roof of leaves overhead that pressed back against the sunlight, casting a dull shade throughout the area instead. Only small, trickles of snow sifted in between to land on their clothes and hair.

It was a strange calm that Hytham found himself basking in. After the fog of exhaustion he had lost himself in, the peace and quiet was a welcome change. Indeed, he found himself oddly understanding why gentle creatures such as deer might come here. Where the trees came together they acted almost like a wooden wall that kept everything else out, as though they were apart from the rest of the world. He felt almost terrible that him and Eivor were entering here with less than peaceful motivations, but perhaps he would return later. Climb a tree and sit a while to contemplate. To enjoy the lack of disturbance away from Fornburg, where his worries seemed to fester as of late.

Ahead of him, Eivor garners his attention when she pulls her fur cloak further across her body for warmth. Neither had uttered a word to each other when they embarked on this hunting trip - just the two of them - on horseback. And while the silence surrounding them wasn’t festering uncomfortably; he began to feel pulled to say something all the same.

Eivor had asked him to come hunting. A random proposition which was initially met by suspicion on his end. However, she eased his concerns that this was some sort of trap by insisting that all she wanted was to bring back the finest prey for tomorrow’s feast, something she wasn’t too proud to admit she needed help with. And that since he was so adamant on staying active, he could accompany her and use up his energy in a less harmful manner. While also repaying his debt to her.

The mention of a _debt_ goaded some anger from him. But she wasn’t wrong; he owed her for her generosity in allowing him to regain his health in her home. And Hytham didn’t fancy the idea of owing something to Eivor, so he agreed. 

He still felt indifferent about the woman. So, being alone with her was... _strange._ Though he could admit the animosity between them was beginning to dull with time, and the shame he felt for having pushed her away that night seemed to fester. And after their altercation...he thinks he’s sussed what her intention was, and he respected what she had tried to do. To make him feel normal again, to give him that sense of normalcy he had been vying for since the raid on Kjotve’s fortress. To give him a taste of the life he lost.

And he was beginning to realise the permanency of his condition for real this time because of it. Knowing she should’ve won not because he didn’t anticipate a move or did not plan ahead. But because he is simply weaker now. At first, he hated her for making him see that, but slowly he was growing to appreciate how she had made him see the truth.

But she was still the woman who regarded him and Basim with a shadow of suspicion. Eager to flash the disc of her smile in Sigurd’s presence, but quietly suffering much darker thoughts to herself. He couldn’t be sure what she truly felt about him; most days she seemed just as fed up with him as he was with her. And yet she pushed for less antagonism. Being concerned even when he hadn’t earned it, inviting him when his presence surely was less than ideal…

Hytham wasn’t sure if friendship was achievable. Perhaps she simply did this for Sigurd’s sake. But civility? A mediocre respect? Maybe that was possible.

As the silence goes on, Eivor turns to look at him as if to check he is still there. He finds himself smiling on instinct, suddenly afraid she could read his thoughts. She returns his smile briefly before looking ahead again. 

He lets out a deep breath. _“So, Eivor. Do you...hunt often?”_ Is the best he can come up with to break the silence. It leaves his mouth awkwardly, like he had been held at knife point to ask it.

Eivor turns, looking as if she expected a thug to be holding him hostage for a minute. However, a mixture of confusion and amusement bemuses her features a second later. As if the question being asked was suggestive, making him rub the back of his neck abashadley. Wondering if she liked making every man feel incredibly foolish or if he was just a special case.

“It is just a simple question,” He tries to rectify.

“Nothing is simple with you, shadow-walker,” Rolling her eyes, Eivor’s expression only becomes more amused. 

He frowns at that. Not everything he did or say had some hidden agenda, a motive hiding around the corner to ambush her. He grows slightly obsessed by how she came to this...this unbecoming conclusion.

“Is it so strange that I perhaps just wish to understand you better?” He says. “To...get to know you?”

“Really?” She slows her horse down till she is riding at his side. An act that makes his back straighten.

“Why is that so surprising?!” He exclaims, flicking his hands up in outrage.

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Never thought I’d be interesting to you. In fact, I would wager that if I were to get mauled by a bear you wouldn’t bat an eye,”

He cringes that he brought upon such an impression. “That is not true,”

 _“Hytham,”_ She whines, growing short of patience at his failure of grasping the obvious. “You and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye since you turned up on our shores. I merely wonder at the sudden interest in my life,”

“You talk as if I am alone in fueling this...whatever this is,” What could one even call this? Rivalry felt too...professional. Enemies felt too strong and unfitting. And foes just sounded foolish. He understood she was a good person, she just wasn’t someone he could remain in the same room as for too long. “We have both acted bitter towards the other. In fact, I feel brave enough to say _you started this,”_

“At least I have tried to mend _this,”_ She huffs, boldening her eyes intensely at him.

“I-” His words die on his tongue. She was right, and he couldn’t argue with her. She had put more effort into at least feigning friendliness. It is he who acted the fool when her concern was hers and hers alone that night when he was still bedridden. And she had been kind enough to let him win yesterday...even if the victory tasted bitter.

“Okay,” He nods reluctantly. “I shall give you that much, I have not tried as hard as I could have to improve...us,”

“So why the sudden interest?"

“I could ask the same of you, Eivor. What do you benefit from inviting me out for a hunt when you have no idea about my skills? Why-”

“You hunt people no?” She begins. _“Even going so far as to steal the hunt at times_ …” She then mutters under her breath, but not so quiet that he of course wouldn’t hear it. And he has to restrain from snapping back. “Flesh is still flesh, whether it be man or animal. As for my interest...there is nothing sudden about mine, _I am naturally caring,”_

“Oh?” He cannot help but chuckle slightly. “And the same cannot be said about me?”

“I think the opposite in fact. I think you care _too much._ But only when it involves your mysterious brotherhood...anything else is...pointless, uninteresting…”

Hytham senses truth in her words, but he brushes it off defensively. Not wanting to think about it too much. “I must be somewhat interested, or I would not have asked,” 

She is silent for a minute. Weighing his words before opening her mouth. “You really want to know if I... _hunt often?”_ Her smile is the same smile he remembers that night. When there was an ephemeral moment of real bonding between the two, before it was shattered. “Or were you just trying to push back against this silence that hangs off our skin?”

“Do you hunt often, Eivor?” He asks with added determination. “Or do you occupy your time in other ways? Please, tell me,”

Grin growing bolder, Hytham finds himself eagerly leaning in as she contemplates an answer. Knowing an engrossing answer is about to be regaled from her expression. “I spend my days however I see fit. When I am not going a viking or hunting, I spend my time drinking and…”

“And?”

“Well...and don’t give me that look! But when drunk I like to tip the ox over in the yard,”

He stares at her, waiting for her to jest. When it does not come, he lets out a loud laugh at the imagery of her; drunk and flustered wrestling with the hairy and smelly creatures they kept at the settlement. “Truly?!”

She nods.

“You are an evil, cruel woman, Eivor. What did the ox ever do to deserve that?”

“Ah, probably looked at me dirty. You can never know with those ox, dead eyes and all,”

“And you do it all by yourself?!”

“Why? You don’t think I can?!” She exploded, rounding on him like he had hit a sore spot. 

“No, no...I’m sure you can,” He quickly holds his hands up in defense. “I would not dare diminish your...ox tipping skills before having laid my eyes on them,"

"I would think not, that is a dangerous gamble,"

"Is there anything else you do to pass the time?"

"Aye, I make my own arrows, I help Gunnar at times...let's see...I train our whelps, help turn boys into men," She continues.

“It is more than what the other women in your clan do, I noticed,” He said.

Hytham remembered how Eivor quickly stood out the moment he laid his eyes on her. A woman iron cladded and wrapped in a cosy array of furs on top of furs, making her body mass appear mightier than what it actually might have been. Her face had been etched in tattoos and scars alike with an axe hung loyally at her waist. 

The other women of Fornburg were often an invert of this. Not all wore dresses of course, and he had seen some carry weaponry. But he had yet to see any of them engage in the raids as fervidly and as passionately as Eivor had. They were hard working women who spent their days child rearing and cooking, as well as other household chores. He wondered what made Eivor a special case.

Wincing, Eivor’s demeanour shifts. “More? I do not think so. The women of my clan have important work, far more important than most give them credit for,”

“I phrased that wrong,” He swallows thickly. “I just meant you are different from what I have seen from the other women. It is…curious. That is all,”

“Curious that I am out of line?” She regards him sharply.

His jaw was beginning to hurt from the boot he had wedged in there and as his mind raced hurriedly for a way out of this awful tension. He took a deep breath and readily composed himself. She was reading him wrong, completely wrong. If only she knew how wrong she had been.

“Please, you misunderstand my intentions. I do not think you are out of line. If anything, I admire you,”

“You do?” She is still wary with suspicion, her eyes flickering over him like he was a threat.

“My brotherhood teaches us the importance of equality. The ownership of women...it strips away everything my creed stands and fights for. This is why I call many in the Hidden Ones _sisters_ , Eivor,” He explains in a calm voice. 

And it was true, very true. While the Levantine brotherhood occupied mostly men, Hytham knew many women just as talented as their male counterparts. He had previously tutored under a woman before leaving with Basim, she had handled him with a stern hand and had garnered respect from everyone around her. Him included.

His mother too had been a worthy adversary to any who opposed what their creed stood for...a long time ago. The people of his homeland did not all share this ideology, in fact he knew of some truly horrific stories. But he would not degrade himself to the position of owning a woman, or anyone for that matter. He had been taught better…

“Sisters? And they fight like you and Basim?” She asks him.

He nods. “They do, they fight like me, Basim and _you”_

At this, Hytham’s heat swells as she smiles. That warmness returning to her features making him feel more at ease again.

“Accept my apologies, Hytham. I was too quick to assume-”

“Do not apologise,” He interjects calmly, holding a hand up. 

“Aye, well. Enough chatter, we should dismount here less we scare off dinner. And before I challenge you to an ox tipping contest...you do not want that,” She points at him, then her to her eyes before climbing down from her horse. Hytham follows suit, securing his steed to a nearby branch and rubbing him between the ears before following behind Eivor.

\------

They sift through the snow diligently. Exchanging more conversations about small matters, until she comes to an abrupt halt. Bending down to her knees, snappily motioning for Hytham to do the same.

“Look. Ahead,” She whispers.

He goes low too, concealing himself in the tall grass she had drawn them into. Then with much effort to try and see what she sees, Hytham manages to peer at a brown coat peeking through a naked bush; a slumbering deer whose body rose and fell against peaceful breaths.

Beside him, Eivor readies her bow. Knocking the arrow in place before pulling back against the tense string with surprising ease. Declaring how familiar she was with the weapon. Hytham watches as her strong arms withstand the pressure easily; her blue eyes turning into focused slits as she steadies her breathing. She makes it look so easy, tremendous even. He finds himself aching slightly at how he disregarded training with the weapon when she made it look so good.

The arrow is released. Spearheading at brilliant speed towards the sleeping deer till it pierces the skin. The creature lets out an anguished screech that tears into the silence. Causing flocks of frightened birds to fly out. It hurries to it’s shaking legs, the arrow visible from its back as it unfortunately flees into the density of the woods and out of sight. Only a trail of blood blotting the white snow left in its wake.

“No!” Eivor growls, almost about to launch after it in chase, but thinks better of it. She takes her misery out on a tree, slamming her fist into the bark. “I was so sure!”

“I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?” He hums sarcastically, standing up with her. 

A look so sharp it could cut him exudes from her. “You decide now is a good time to finally jest?”

His smile dies as she kicks some snow, clenching and unclenching her fists as she stares off in the direction the deer fled in. He reads the runes in her sky-blue eyes and sees real, boiling anger. The reaction seemed a little too violent, a little too much when she still had a full quiver, and a woodland teeming with animals.

“There will be other deer,” He tries to reassure her. “There’s no need to be so angry,”

She flinches, as though for a minute she had forgotten he was even there. “I’m sorry...I am...,”

“Eivor?”

“I have a bet with another hunting party,” She sighs, pinching her nose. “I can’t lose it,”

“What happens if you lose it?”

“They’ll-”

Without warning, a crunch sounds off behind them.

The sound of snow and branches being crushed beneath a massive weight hurtling towards them fills their ears. Hytham’s veins chill to ice as a looming, hulking silhouette tears between the trees right behind Eivor. Without thinking, he grabs the woman just in time and throws his weight to pull them both to the right. Escaping the clambering claws of the bear only just...

It fell forward, then circled to face them. On its hind legs, the bear was taller than any man. It swayed left and right as if it could not handle its own weight, reminding Hytham of an inebriated drunkard. Sops of wet saliva dribbled in long strings from it’s jaw as it bore two near black eyes at him and Eivor. She helped him up as his chest was already beginning to writhe.

He could feel Eivor’s hand reach for his upper arm, fingers digging so deep it hurt yet that was the last thing on his mind. The bear remained towering over them, daring them to make the first move. To give it cause to lurch. Eivor tried getting a little bit in front of him, but he took hold of her arm too, securing her in place and squeezing to let her know that was a bad idea.

“We need to climb a tree,” He whispers harshly under his breath. Looking at her in panic. “Get up somewhere high!”

“It will just climb up after us,” She hisses through a clenched jaw. “And then what? There’s only so much tree!”

The bear seemed too big to be able to climb, but Hytham nodded.

“I can jump across the branches, circle around! Draw it’s attention away from you long enough,” He rationalises. He quickly looks up, denoting that the branches would be tough enough to hold his weight. _They better be at least,_ or it was going to be a long way down into the dripping, black cave of the bear’s mouth.

“And if you fall?!”

“I’ll just have to refrain from that then _won’t I?!”_

She doesn’t like this idea, _hates it even_ . And in her eyes Hytham deduces the thought of just running at the bear flashes across her mind as she traces the space between him and it. For all her strength and _blind bravery;_ taking down a beast of this size was still beyond her. Even with the two of them - and his condition - the chances were slim. But better than her going toe to toe-

The bear gives them no more time to conjure a plan. With a deafening moan it came at them; frenzied, unyielding and animalistic. Like a tidal wave ready to pull you under. Hytham and Eivor push against each other quickly, him landing to the left and her to the right as the bear rushed between them. Instead of climbing the same tree like he had imagined, Hytham and Eivor are forced to clamber up their own.

However, fate was not so kind to him. The bear had chosen him to launch itself at. Despite getting his fingers fitted to a branch, the damn snow had made him too slow. The bear was advancing. Too close already for him to get any higher.

Closing his eyes, Hytham waits for the inevitable agony of his back being torn open; hoping the kindness of it being quick will be afforded to him. 

Except the bear releases a pained groan before it can. He hears it stumble to a stop. 

Looking behind him; Eivor is halfway up the tree, her bow tightly in hand. Her recently released arrow sticking out from the bear’s shoulder.

Wasting no time, Hytham takes the opportunity given to him and hurries up the tree just as the bear recuperates. Now boldening its attacks through the seething anger caused by Eivor’s arrow, it tries to rip the tree from the earth. 

The bark cries out and he knows he’s only got so long till the bear actually manages to pry it from the ground. He climbs higher and higher and just when the tree is about to collapse he jumps, landing on to another branch on another tree. This one seemingly sturdier than the last

“Hytham! Get out of here and get help!” Eivor shouts at him desperately, waving her arms frantically from where she is perched beyond his reach.

Frowning at this, Hytham cannot understand how this benefits anyone. Even _if_ he knew the way back to Fornburg, he would surely not return in time to rescue her….

Then it clicks in his head what she’s trying to do. _Her damn saviour complex,_ and he promises himself to not leave these woods till they are both safe and sound. He would not let her go down for his sake. People needed her, she had a _healthy_ life yet to live. _And as if he would let her be the hero of the day…_

No, he wasn’t going anywhere. They had both gotten into this mess, they would both get out of it together...

Taking out his knives - which he feels blessed for having secured to his body for the sake of training earlier - he launches one, two, three, towards the beast as it’s interest diverts to Eivor. Hoping to put it back onto him. 

A bow he was useless with, but the art of throwing knives was a passion he practised in earnest. They pierce the bear’s fur with precision. Digging into its shoulders, burly neck and arm. Trickles of blood coated the snow, dragging along in slippery blots with each heavy movement of the enraged creature. It began looking for him, moaning and whining.

The bear repeats what it had done before, attempting to furiously break the tree to reach him. Only it was having more difficulty this time. Still, Hytham did not want to take too many chances.

He was aware she had not learned to maneuver among walkways like he had. But she would have to take a minor leap of faith and try to get herself across to his tree anyway. Where they could climb higher or at least work together to weaken the bear.

“Eivor! Jump!” He shouts, trying not to buckle under the panic in her eyes. 

Eivor glances around, shaking her head quickly. “It is no use! Get back to Fornburg!”

“You must try!”

Looking towards the nearest branch, he can see through the wisps of fog that escape her mouth that she lets out a shuddering breath. Considering whether to trust his judgement or not.

 _“Please, please, please,”_ He whispers under his breath. 

She runs along the branch, miraculously retaining balance. She jumps and her chest hits the edge with a dull thud, her arms quickly wrapping to stop herself from slipping off. She hangs dangerously low, like a lure on a fishing line. He throws a knife, then a branch. Even his own vambrace; hyperly fumbling with the laces and yanking it from his wrist. Ding anything and everything he can to give her time to pull herself up.

“Go to Fornburg!” She tries once again.

“Just pull yourself up!” He snaps.

“Away with you! You witless fool!” She seethes, smacking her fist into the side of the tree as her legs kick furiously.

The screaming urges the bear on, soon Hytham is finally forgotten. Even as he continues to throw branches and his last knife, it’s paces only grow in fury towards Eivor. Throwing its weight into the tree as if it would grant it relief from the pain. 

Somehow Eivor gets back onto the branch amidst the rocking. Her eyes land on him, and in an instant form of communication; the two nod and Eivor makes her towards him with great struggle.

The bear snaps its jaws as she balances above it. Stepping from branch to branch like a flag caught in the wind and as she advances, Hytham extends his arm.

It was a gamble, a complete toss of the dice to appease or dispel the grace of the gods. A complete, manic and insane driven last resort. But Eivor jumps, and time comes to a slow halt. She knows the branch could snap under her weight, that his fingers could slip through hers. Yet she stretches towards him, putting all her trust that he will catch her and save her from the snapping maws that await below.

Her fingers graze his own. And luckily her hand slipped into his palm perfectly. And with a snap she’s secured in his grip. All the air in his chest vanishes as he dangles her, yet he pushes through the pain, heaving and groaning as he pulls her up. Giving her time to swing her leg and join him in safety.

The bear circles them, clawing and groaning. But for now, it seems to be mimicking Hytham’s state. Its interest waning.

She presses her back against the main part of the tree, hugging her legs as she catches her breath.

“We play the waiting game,” She sighs. 

He nods in agreement. Unable to pry his eyes away from the bear…  
  
  



End file.
